John Watson is BAMF
by Meowbowwow
Summary: Yes, John is angry with Sherlock. But that doesn't mean that a rather intelligent forensics expert would hit on his man and get away with it. Angry wall sex. SMUT alert. No one messes with BAMF John Watson and gets away with it, not even Sherlock Holmes. Especially not Sherlock Holmes.


When you live with Sherlock Holmes, the world stops to matter. When the genius is throwing his deductions to the room in general and insulting all the Andersons and the Donovans (even the Lestrades and the Mycrofts on occassion) but gives you a warm smile every time you ask a question, you do tend to realise what a lucky person you are. That said, in no way does it make living with eyeballs in the microwave and thumbs in the fridge easier. Not even when you are utterly and helplessly in love with the mad, lunatic and genius sod.

John and Sherlock were fighting. Again. And no, it wasn't what Mrs. Hudson would call a little domestic. No. It was a full-fledged war in 221B because John had been denied his morning tea, thanks to some pale green stuff that was congealing in his kettle. And people who know John Watson would have warned Sherlock that, contrary to popular belief, the doctor is NOT an adorable hedgehog wearing striped jumpers. When they fought, the passerbies could have sworn that the world would end that day.

The case was a simple one but Sherlock still took it. It provided him a reason to leave the flat because he was very bored. Bored enough to take a simple case and make Lestrade owe him one (amongst many thousands!) The cab ride was eerily quiet and the two men didn't even breathe loudly for fear that the one who breaks the silence would be the one that actually looks like he's apologising. It was a confusing concept but so were our men, hence, no point discussing the stupidity of it all.

Everyone in the Yard noticed the silence. It slid between their conversations and hung open like a clam's mouth. Obviously everyone assumed that it must have been Sherlock's fault and the general what-did-you-do-now looks that were being directed at Sherlock made him even more irritable.  
"I know you are incompetent, Anderson but sometimes you fail miserably, even by my low standards set especially for you. Congratulations on your everything." Sherlock actually wrung his hands as he said this, to further prove his point. This lead to a huge fight (Sherlock was on a roll that day, apparently) in which Anderson walked out of the crime scene and Lestrade looked close to tears (of frustration). The case might have been simple for Sherlock-massive-intellect-Holmes but for mortals like Lestrade and the rest of the yarders, it was still a problem big enough for them to actually call the genius.

John had his lips pursed during the entire performance and even when he knew that Sherlock's slanted gaze was directed at him, hoping for at least a huff of disapproval, it never came. Both the men were fiercely stubborn, John more so because it was a little uncharacteristic of him to be this angry. One simply did not mess with John Watson's kettle and get away with it.

As they were working, trying to tolerate Sherlock's constant stream of insults to the yarders, the air, the building, the weather, the yarders, the dead body, the murderer, the yarders, the yarders, the yarders, the door suddenly opened with a creak and in walked the other forensic expert. And god, even Sherlock stopped mid sentence to look at the man.

"James, they sent you?" Lestrade came forward to shake his hands, a small smile plastered on his face. James was 6'2'', lean but well-built and he wore a crisp black suit with a mocha colored shirt that complimented his olive complexion.  
He bent over the body once and sniffed the lips, "poisoned. Almost 6 hours since she died. And..." he put his gloves on and retrieved a scrap of paper from the victim's mouth which he then put inside a bag that Donovan handed to him with a dopey smile. Throughout this performance, Sherlock remained uncharacteristically quiet. The man was intelligent, very intelligent. Perhaps not Holmesian intelligence but he was good at what he was doing, it was evident in the way he carried himself and the way he spoke and how his hand gently brushed against Sherlock's arm as he got up, his hazel eyes never leaving Sherlock's gray ones and - suddenly, John was standing close to Sherlock, his hand on the small of Sherlock's back.

"Hello. It's good to finally meet you," said James, ignoring John completely. However, it was quite a surprise to all the yarders when Sherlock shook his hands, with a very genuine smile upon his face. "Good to see that there are still some non-idiots in this place," he said in his typical tone but it was much softer than what he reserved for others. Too soft. John felt his jaws clench. Slighty. Very slightly. John was controlled. It was nothing. Just another good-looking man(he could kill this man right now).

As they took the lift after an hour of the insufferable James (John's thoughts, not mine) bored them with his supposed paper on god-knows-what, John felt a sigh of relief that at least he could get a moment of peace now. But no. The insufferable James (that's not his name, John!) had to follow them there as well, his hand on Sherlock's arms and hazel eyes locking the grey ones again. It was like Sherlock was cheating on John by having eye sex with this person. NOT acceptable at all.

What John did after this was what people would describe as very out of character (or OOC, if you prefer). He walked out of the lift and stood there, facing the two confused men. Sherlock gaped at him, not understanding anything. For a genius, he was pretty idiotic because anyone could have felt the cold wave radiating off John's body, his eyes were set straight and he didn't blink, you could actually see a vein throbbing dangerously in his temple.

However, obtuse that he is, Sherlock is still not as idiotic as people make him out to be. And certainly not brave when he finally figures out the source of John's discomfort. He immediately backed into the lift, distancing himself from Mr. Insufferable James and looking at John with puppy dog eyes. It didn't suit him but it worked. James, dim-witted that he was (he really wasn't, though) looked at the two of them and then realisation dawned on him (the guy is slower than fucking Anderson, John thought) as he gave an apologetic smile to John and made a lame excuse to get out of the lift.

John stepped back in, still looking dead straight (ha!) and punching the buttons as if they'd done him some personal insult. The moment the doors closed, hungrily, John pinned Sherlock against the back, his hands holding both Sherlock's bony wrists on top of his head as he reclaimed his property. No words were spoken (kettle, remember? one doesn't get over that quickly) but Sherlock's lower lip was brutally nipped between John's teeth, the detective whimpering freely inside John's mouth and trying to free his hands. _Oh, I love him. I love this crazy idiot genius idiot idiot, _John thought as he further ravaged Sherlock's mouth with his own. There bodies were pressed together and Sherlock's struggle only made John growl more as he stood closer to Sherlock, rubbing their erections together and cupping Sherlock's balls with his free hand, squeezing them gently to draw more moans from the man. His mouth was now full upon Sherlock's, the tongue exploring familiar territory, sucking against Sherlock's. Sherlock whimpered more, trying to gain more friction by arching his hips to the front and then - the lift made a sound and the doors clang a little before actually opening.

Sherlock and John quickly looked at their blurry reflections against the steel walls, hoping that people won't notice the glaring swell in their trousers. They got into a cab and honestly, John Watson couldn't remember any ride being longer. Sherlock put his head back, exposing his gorgeous neck (fucking tease, John grumbled) and splaying his legs to the front with his eyes closed. It was more than John could take. He wasn't really a man who would grope his boyfriend at the back of a cab but the situation was a little frustrating. You would understand if you lived with Sherlock Holmes, situations tended to exaggerate themselves.

John slightly leaned towards Sherlock and stealthily carried his lips to Sherlock's ears.

"Mmmm, you look gorgeous, you know."  
Sherlock's eyes flew open and he turned his head to face John. John's hungry expression was flowing out of his eyes.  
"Oh the things I'm gonna do to you, Sherlock. You wait," John let his finger stroke Sherlock's knee, making the detective shiver and close his eyes again.  
"John, please..."  
"Oh yes, you would beg me to fuck you. I'll make you beg again and again till you knew better than to flirt with good for nothing pretty forensic experts."  
"But, I wasn't-"  
"But you let him. You let him flirt, you let him look at you in a way only I am allowed to look at you. Do you understand, Sherlock?" John's voice was a whisper now and his mouth was a hair's breadth away from Sherlock's ears.  
"I am going to lick every inch of you, cover every bit of your beautiful body with my mouth but I won't touch your cock until my tongue has memorised the rest of you." John continued in his low voice. Sherlock gulped, his pupils blown and his erection seeming fuller.  
"Oh look at you, getting all hard. Only I'm allowed to make you this hard."  
"John, only you can make me this hard. Please - " John put a finger on Sherlock's lips and shook his head.  
"

"I'll take you in my mouth and tease you until you couldn't take it any more. Until it hurt and then, I'm going to give it all to you. I want you to scream my name when you come, I want to hear my name in your beautiful voice and I pound into you. Again. And again. And again." John punctuated his statements with a squeeze on Sherlock's thighs.

Thankfully for both the men, Baker Street arrived. Sherlock almost ran out of the cab, overpaying the cabbie heavily as the two men made way into their rooms.

The moment the door closed, John was fucking Sherlock's mouth with his own, breathing in the intoxicating drug that was Sherlock, his lips swollen and red and oh, the neck. How could it be spared, John gave it his full attention as he bit hard on it, making a mental note to not let Sherlock wear his scarf for a few days. The bruise glinted in the light, purple and battered and it looked like it belonged there.

Sherlock moaned and begged John, trying to grind against him until even John didn't remember his own "revenge plan". They quickly got each other out of their clothes, never leaving the other's lips until Sherlock was pinned against the door, naked against a very flushed John Watson.  
John quickly left the man to get some lube from his room. He didn't even wait to slick him up and was doing it on the way when he saw Sherlock. Oh and it took his breath away, Sherlock was fingering himself with one hand and gently stroking his cock with the other, his eyes closed and head pulled back and honest-to-God John Watson almost came at the sight.

John positioned himself in front of Sherlock, slicking more lube and gently putting his hands on the other man's hips, pulling him down to remove the height disadvantage. As he entered Sherlock, both men gasped loudly.

"God, Sherlock, you are so fucking tight, you-" now John started moving in earnest, his movement punctuated by Sherlock's chants of John-please and oh-John. It wasn't until a particular angle which hit Sherlock's prostrate and was surprisingly comfortable for John to hold too that they hit a rhythm.

"Touch yourself, Sherlock, oh-god," John said, still pounding into the man. Sherlock was very close and when he started stroking himself, it was barely 3 seconds when John felt him clenching, the tightness engulfing John's cock in pure bliss.

"Who do you belong to?" John said, hitting his bundle of nerves again and again.  
"You, you, you, oh god, John, you."  
"Who's allowed to do this to you?" John asked, licking Sherlock's left nipple as he pound into him.  
"John-fucking-Watson oh-"  
Sherlock came against his stomach, holding tightly on to John, his fingers digging in John's shoulders painfully. It was only a few seconds after which John was coming too. As he rode the last of his orgasm, John and Sherlock slumped on the floor, dripping with sweat. Sherlock was aching but he felt so good. They had made love before but this, this had been the very best of all.

"Must thank James," John said quietly, his lips quirking up around the edges.

"Yeah, he's Mycroft's "friend", I think a message will do," Sherlock's teasing voice replied.

**I am sorry for any typos. Please point them out if you find any, I'd love to make the changes. Thanks for reading.**


End file.
